


Brought to Heel

by Rokeon



Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King, Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokeon/pseuds/Rokeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee Stetson, retired secret agent, gets called back to active duty to deal with a hacker who's too smart for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brought to Heel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://yanagoya.livejournal.com/profile)[**yanagoya**](http://yanagoya.livejournal.com/) , who posted this [very NSFW drawing](http://yanagoya.livejournal.com/21094.html) of Ed Dillinger Jr and Legacy-era Lee Stetson, along with a prompt that grabbed my brain and wouldn't let go until I committed commentfic.

Like he told the ridiculously young recruiter they sent to his house to pitch the your-country-needs-you speech to him, Lee is retired. Has been for years, zero intention of going back, thanks but no thanks. Tell Langley to stop wasting their time.

The one who shows up two days later looks old enough to drink, if only just, and has enough clearance to address him as Scarecrow rather than "Mr. Stetson, sir." He lets that one in the front door.

Apparently they have an actual mission in mind this time, it isn't the standard yearly check to see if he's bored enough to do something stupid. A particularly talented hacker has been attacking a number of sensitive government systems recently, including the Agency's own mainframe. Lee flips through the background information he's been given, which has been redacted past worthlessness, and wonders out loud if it's the same hacker who broke into the DOD's secure server six weeks earlier; he's rewarded by the kid sputtering incoherently about classified, never released to the press, and how the hell did he know about that. It's like he thinks retiring from intelligence work means you turn your eyes, ears, and brain back in with the rest of your issued equipment.

The photos are at the back of the folder, half a dozen 8x10 glossies, and those make him pause long enough for the kid to recover and start spouting out a bio. Edward Dillinger, Jr: genius programmer, youngest member of the board of directors at ENCOM International, prime suspect. But there's no solid evidence, of course, and he's too high profile for most of the Agency's usual methods when they haven't actually proved that he's done anything wrong other than walk around looking like he needs to be ridden hard and put away wet. (Not that the kid mentions that last part. But Lee is a trained observer, fully capable of noticing these things himself. The glasses and the hairstyle alone...)

The kid is babbling on about why they need Lee specifically, something about a resemblance to another member of the board and access to certain secure areas, but he's preaching to the choir. Looks like Lee is bored enough to do something stupid after all.

* * *

A week later, sporting new glasses and a perfectly tailored suit, Lee swipes Alan Bradley's ID badge through the scanner and waves to the security guard sitting at ENCOM's front desk. Bradley left the office an hour ago; Lee watched him go, verified that their clothes matched, and waited until the GPS tracker showed him safe and sound at home. By now the executive has changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and poured himself a drink, blissfully unaware of the fact that's he also clocking in a couple extra hours of overtime at work.

Really, it's almost like Lee is doing him a favor.

Dillinger's office is three floor's below Bradley's. Lee rides the elevator all the way up, fully aware that night shift guard duty is more than boring enough to make the elevator display a viable entertainment option, and takes the stairs down. The pretty boy is supposed to be working late on ENCOM's new operating system, and Lee has even odds that he'll actually find him at his desk. No sweat- if the kid's there, he'll hang back and make some preliminary observations. If he's not, it's a perfect opportunity to plant some bugs. Win/win.

Option three, also win: Junior's at his desk, all right, but he's not working. Apparently his misappropriation of company equipment extends beyond using the computers to hack into government networks; he also uses them to download porn. Shame on him.

There's a darkened cubicle with a good line of sight halfway down the hall, and Lee settles in to do some observing. The heavy wooden compensating-for-something desk blocks most of the view, which is a crime in itself, but it's not hard to figure out what Junior's doing when he's flashing a long length of bare leg, his foot propped up on the edge and a bottle of lube in easy reach. Impressive flexibility. His fancy ergonomic chair is tilted so far back that Lee honestly expects it to tip backward any second, but it stays in place even when Junior obviously hits the right spot, crying out and pushing even farther back as his braced-up leg tries to buckle. ENCOM clearly spares no expense on office furniture for its favorites; it's truly terrible that the boy is misusing company resources this way. One more thing that will have to be taken out of his hide later.

The flush and the sweat say he's been at this for more than little while so it's no surprise that he finishes quickly, tossing his head back with a moan as he convulses and goes limp. There's a box of tissues on the corner of the desk, ready and waiting, and Lee takes the opportunity to slip away as Dillinger pulls himself together and starts to clean up. He'll give him thirty minutes, time to wipe everything down and shut off his system, then come back to plant the bugs. Somebody has to do some actual work tonight, after all.

And if he plants one or two more cameras than he originally intended to, or stays in that office a few minutes longer than strictly necessary... well, there's no harm in being thorough, is there?

He may be the hottest thing to hit the computer world since silicon, but when he's not sitting at a keyboard Junior turns out to have about as much tradecraft as a brain damaged puppy. Maybe less; at least dogs can figure out not to shit where they eat. But pretty boy hasn't even managed to master that much, so Lee's bugs have collected for him a tidy video library of Junior working, hacking, and jerking off all over his glossy corner office. Lee's caught himself thinking disparaging thoughts about the current generation's work ethic more than once, and it makes him feel too damn old.

He sends the relevant evidence off with a verified courier and takes the liberty of adding a few suggestions about making contact at the bottom of his report. No one asked for them, but if the Agency just wanted the kid arrested they would have turned their theories over to the FBI and let them be the voyeurs. But they sent Lee in, with a camera instead of a rifle, and that means someone up top thinks Edward Dillinger, Jr, could be useful. All they have to do is let him know who his new employers are and what the consequences will be if he hacks anything other than what they point him at, and Lee has no problem delivering that message. No problem at all.

The new orders come down two days later, and it's nice to see that his opinion is still valued after all these years. Make contact with the subject, manner and means to be left at Scarecrow's discretion, and explain precisely what situation Junior has put himself into and what will be expected of him in the future. To phrase it loosely, put a collar on the boy and bring him to heel.

If someone is trying to persuade him to stay active after this job is over, they're doing a good job at it. Lee had forgotten exactly how much he loved this work sometimes.

He takes another day to finish setting up the scenario he'd already half prepared, and then he heads back to ENCOM Tower. Caroline at the security desk waves to him as he pushes the dolly and its cargo over to the elevator - she and Lee have been chatting in passing for a good ten days now, all very friendly. He knows all about the track meet her son is due to compete in this weekend and she knows all about Mr. Bradley's cunning plan to smuggle a decent mini-fridge into his office to protect his snacks from the depredations of the other executives. She laughs when she sees the oversized cardboard box, swears again to protect his secret with her life, even offers to help get it upstairs for him. But of course Bradley wouldn't dream of taking her away from her post. He can handle it himself.

In the hall down from Junior's office, pulling on the gloves and mask, and he can hear the furious clatter of keys from here. Sounds like he's not going to be interrupting anything too important, then, which makes things simpler professionally even if it is a bit of a disappointment on a personal level. Down the hall, in the door, and over the desk- he's standing behind the boy with one hand clamped over his mouth before Junior can even let go of the mouse. Pulls his head back against Lee's chest, appreciating again how that lean body arches back and the chair tilts without skidding out, and slides the needle home in his neck with easy precision. Wait-two-three and tensed muscles go slack, sagging to deadweight in his grip as the drug takes effect. Five minutes later the computer is powered down, the bugs have been collected, the kid has been neatly boxed for transport, and Mr. Bradley is on his way back downstairs. Caroline gives him a thumbs-up as he wheels the dolly back out the door.

* * *

"Open your eyes."

The kid started stirring about three minutes ago, shaking his head and testing the cuffs on his wrists, then froze when Lee let his heel scrape loudly across the floor. He gave him two minutes to think it over and work himself up - keeping that same artificial stillness the whole time, they can be so cute when they think they're fooling somebody - before he figured that any more time to stew would be counterproductive. They do have to have a conversation at some point, and if Junior hyperventilates himself back into unconsciousness before Lee can lay down the rules it'll be all night before they get to the good part.

Junior pretends to be coming to - fluttering eyelashes and a little fake moan, the acting so bad it's almost endearing - and looks around the room. Lee left him his glasses, he's not nearly threatening enough to need any sensory deprivation to keep him under control, and the choice is completely validated when the kid catches sight of him leaning against the windowsill and does a double take. He'll realize his mistake any second, the resemblance isn't good enough to fool someone who actually knows Bradley for more than a minute, but Lee's not above taking the opportunity to enjoy the thoroughly dumbfounded look on his face until then. Lee is not a nice man, sometimes.

A nice man would have left Junior his pants as well as his glasses.

"Before you say something stupid, I'm not Alan Bradley. And you're not a poor innocent victim, so do me a favor and skip the part where you cry about kidnapping and ransom and not having done anything wrong. Think you can manage that?"

Obviously not, because the first thing out of the kid's mouth is, "You have no idea how much _shit_ you are going to be in when they--" He cuts off when Lee, who has no intention of wasting his time listening to pretentious ranting, shrugs his suit coat off and walks to the other side of the room to hang it up. If that happens to show off his gun in its shoulder holster, well, call it a happy coincidence.

"I won't be in half as much shit as you are now, boy genius. Who exactly do you think is going to come galloping to your rescue- DOD? Homeland Security? FBI? They're looking for you, all right, but it's not so they can take you home and make everything all right." He pauses, pretending to consider what he just said. "Well, it'll be all right for them. You'll probably get vanished to a little cell someplace they've never even heard of internet access, but everyone else will go home happy."

Junior looks appropriately terrified, now, and he doesn't try to deny anything or pretend that he doesn't know exactly what Lee just accused him of doing. Good. "Who are you?"

Decent question. "That's need to know, kid, and you don't. You're going to be walking out of here in the morning, assuming you play your cards right, and I'd rather not give you any more clues than I need to. Call me Scarecrow."

The relief that blossoms across his face at the suggestion that he might not be ending the night in a shallow grave is obvious; Lee really hopes that the kid never tries to play any poker that's not online.

"I'm going to explain the rules now. I'd pay attention if I were you, but it's just a suggestion."

The rules should be simple: keep your mouth shut, stop fucking around, and do what you're told. Twelve words. He could understand needing to emphasize them a little (The first rule is, you do not talk about the Agency. The second rule is, you DO NOT talk about the Agency.) but they are not that difficult to understand.

Or they shouldn't be, but somehow the universe has a surplus of hyper-intelligent morons that it just loves to dump in Lee's lap, because years ago one of his bosses realized that he's actually good at these one man press gang jobs. And every last one of those conscripts, who universally possessed some unique talent that left no room in their head for anything even resembling basic common sense, has managed to do something new and stupid that he has to warn future candidates against. It shouldn't be necessary to articulate that complaining to a lawyer about the government's medieval hiring practices is a bad idea, as is bragging about being a secret agent in order to get a date or telling the barista exactly what was so hectic on the job last night that makes the triple espresso so necessary this morning. He has a whole list of these; he really can go on all day about exactly how stupid it's possible for someone smart to be.

Why is it so hard for people to just do what they're told when they're told to do it rather than being deliberately contrary, demanding an explanation, or whining about being ordered around? Of course they don't like being given orders. If they did, they probably would have followed the damn things and done something constructive with their lives rather than deciding that the legal route was for chumps and ultimately ending up right where Junior is now: handcuffed to a chair in an abandoned building getting lectured on the facts of life as they're going to be in the future.

Hold that thought. Junior's oversized brain might not like being told what to do, but certain other parts of him aren't objecting at all to the idea of straightening up and paying attention. He's fully aware of it, too, if the rosy-pink blush across his cheeks is any indication.

Lee has to admit, of all the various curveballs he's dealt with in the past, he's never had a recruiting job take this particular turn before.

There's a whole range of things he could do with this situation - _God_ , the things he could do with this situation - but the range of things he should do is a lot narrower. Sure, Junior's body is begging for it, his cock already so hard it's beginning to work its way out of his boxers, but the kid is so screwed in the head right now that he's pretty much the Oxford English definition of incapable of consent. Lee's mission is to fuck the kid over; he's got no problem fucking with him a little in the process, but actually fucking him is going too far.

Lee abruptly realizes that he's become so distracted by Junior, by the thought of kicking his legs apart and pulling his hips forward until the edge of the chair is digging into his tailbone and it's all the boy can do to brace himself against sprawling on the floor with his wrists half-broken by the cuffs, that he's stopped talking. He's just standing there, leaning against the windowsill and watching, and if Junior's face gets any more fiery then the kid is going to spontaneously combust. Also, his cock is so hard it's started leaking.

That's two kinks, then. Interesting.

"Tell you what, kid, I'll make you a deal." The sudden statement after the heavy silence makes Junior startle in his seat, the cuffs rattling against the frame of the chair, and Lee smiles. His hand is gentle as he lifts the glasses away from Junior's face, absently folding them and setting them aside as he pushes away from the window. He moves forward until he's well into Junior's personal space and leans down. Not only does this new position emphasize how much taller he is, how unquestionably in control, but it also puts his mouth right next to Junior's ear.

"I'm going to take the cuffs off, drop you off at home, and let you go back to your life. You're going to go to work, you're going to do your job, and you are going to stop hacking into any outside systems." Junior draws in a breath to speak and Lee doesn't know if it's to protest or agree, but he doesn't really care. He lays one finger against the kid's lips and smiles again when the only sound that follows is the faintest, barely audible moan on the exhale. "In a couple days, or maybe a couple weeks, you're going to get a call. A man is going to tell you what information he needs and you're going to get it for him. You'll know he's the right one because he'll give you my name as a signal." He moves his hand from Junior's mouth to the back of his head, threading his fingers through the hair there but being careful not to tug. Not yet. "What's my name?"

He can hear Junior's throat working for a long moment before his voice comes, breathless and pleading, "Scarecrow." Then he sucks air in raggedly and manages one more word: "Please..."

Lee's fingers lock down and pull back and there it is again , that gorgeous curving line of skin from throat to chest to stomach that he couldn't help admiring that first night at the office. Junior's muscles are so tense that they've started shaking and his breath is coming in quick, panting gasps. "You're going to get the information and call the number he gives you to contact when you're done. And then you've got a choice: if you want to, you can send everything electronically and probably never have to set eyes on an agent for the rest of your life. Or you can set up a drop, a time and a place to pass it on in person, and I'll be the one to meet you. Do you understand?"

Whatever response Junior would have given is lost in a shout as Lee drops his other hand down and jerks his cock with only slightly less force than the hand that's still fisted in his hair. He's fast and ruthless, pausing only to drag his thumbnail across the head, and the burn of friction from his dry palm has to hurt. It's less than half a minute before Junior cries out and comes apart underneath him

His hand is out of that hair and into his pocket as soon as Junior's body shudders and goes limp. The syringe is already loaded and waiting; the kid never even comes to before the sedative takes effect and locks him under. He'll wake up at home, as promised, and he might even have a moment where he thinks the whole night was just a strange dream. Though that won't last past seeing the angry red scoring that's coming into view now as Lee unlocks the handcuffs, easing the metal away from narrow wrists and checking to be sure that none of the skin is broken. It's not, but they'll ache for the rest of the day and Junior will be wearing long sleeves for a week.

Lee finds that he's completely comfortable with that idea.


End file.
